


Chasing Shadows

by DestinyShiva



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spy, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-15 23:40:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestinyShiva/pseuds/DestinyShiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working as a secret agent is rough. From danger, torture, and travelling the world. Then again, having an occasional and amazing one-night stand with a cute blonde isn't so bad. Until you notice they are everywhere. (Co-written with Tenkuno).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> CO-WRITTEN WITH TENKUNO.

Chasing Shadows: Chapter One

* * *

Long slender fingers flew across the keys of the board as the sun continued to beat down onto his back. His scalp felt almost like it was burning as he continued to write every piece of information he had so far on this mission. He sighed as he pulled at the white collar of his cotton t-shirt, feeling sweat slide down his chest and soak into the back when he pulled it tight against his skin. Wonderful. A whopping seventy-seven degrees Fahrenheit, or twenty five degrees Celsius over here in Europe. A new record for Venice.

It didn't help that he had decided to sit outside instead of inside, but he had thought for sure with the blue and white striped awning would have at least kept some part of him cool. He ended up half in the sun baking to a crisp and half in shade but still sweltering. He picked at a piece of the wicker chair for a minute and glanced at the tomato stains he left on the plain white table cloth, wondering if he should just go somewhere that actually had air conditioner. The old building that the cafe was in surely didn't, it was made completely of stone and brick and then wiped over with a yellowish-beige plaster.

It was chipping everywhere.

Agent Jones flipped his sunglasses up and pushed them through his hair as he looked around the small cafe he was seated at. Where had that waiter gone? He was really low on coke, even though he knew the drink just dehydrated him more. Blue eyes roamed around the restaurant one more time before he gave up on being waited on and continued to type out his report. He squinted down at the screen of his small notebook, hating wearing stupid contacts over his glasses but when you're on a mission you really can't risk them falling off and being blinded.

He sighed as he came to a pause in a sentence, then rubbed his dry hands over his heated and flushed face. "Good god... Let this just be over."

It was hot for the middle of Spring. Terribly so. Anyone that would wear anything much more than a t-shirt would be a complete nutter.

Which, just so happened to make the man steadily approaching the café from a distance absolutely barmy. Business was still everything in the modern mainly capitalist world, but the male that was getting closer might have been taking it a little bit too far.

He was a suited individual, completely black and with a black shirt, topped with colour only by the green and silver striped tie around his neck and the silver gloves he wore. Colour, that was, that did not come from the man himself - for he was bewilderingly luminescent as well. The whitest skin - one could only hope the poor thing had placed sun block on himself, with weather like this - and the brightest green eyes, topped with straw coloured hair, which had been slightly ruined by the wind. Not that it didn't suit him.

He stopped outside of the café, eyes searching. Frowning, he seemed to not see what he was looking for. With a glance over his shoulder - he was anxious - and a worried look back, he stepped up and pretended to look at the menu. Pretended, because it was obvious to trained eyes that he was checking the inside of the café instead. He was looking for someone. Sighing, he took out a handkerchief and tapped the sweat off his forehead - hidden beneath those ragged locks of his - and re-looked over the people outside.

A minute later or so, a chair was pulled up opposite the agent. The suited individual looked uncertain of himself, but he did not seem too suspicious. He was humanly nervous. Poisonous green locked onto blue, curiously.

" _Mi scusi_ ," it was said in Italian. Not his mother tongue, obviously, by his genetics - but sounded almost perfectly like local dialect. "... _Tu non capita di essere Beilschmidt Ludwig, vero?"_

Jones frowned slightly when the man pulled up a seat next to him and sat down, the sun now burning into both of their skulls. The man was obviously not from around here by the way he looked. A thin blonde eyebrow raised as he watched the man, who was apparently an idiot when it came to dressing for the weather with what he had on. The golden blonde agent himself wore baggy cargo shorts and a simple white t-shirt.

The bright blonde quickly slammed his notebook shut with a loud click and turned to look at the man when he asked him something, again in that tight lipped way. He thought about just answering the man honestly, it was obvious this man didn't really know what he was doing by how nervous he looked. But then giving away any shred of your identity while out for work was against the rules in the textbook. Plus, this man was kind of cute.

A bright white grin made its way on his face as he leaned back in his chair and propped his arm up onto the back of his chair in a care free manner. "Cosa c'è di sbagliato? Hai bisogno di aiuto, l'uomo bello?" He let the words pour from his mouth easily, his acting skills finally having some use as he sounded the words out with a perfect Italian accent. "Si parla inglese anche tu?"

The foreign male sighed, finding the conversation somewhat tedious - clearly. He was not there to have a light-hearted conversation, though that might be what his suit was already hinting to. That said, it was more of an evening dress than for mid afternoon. Where was this man going to? The male reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver pocket watch, attached to his suit by a chain. He checked the time and gave a tight-lipped frown, before closing it up and looking back to the agent.

"...Questa conversazione è irrilevante. Sei o non sei Beilschmidt Ludwig?" He insisted.

Oh. Well then, fine Mr. Kill-Joy. Jones didn't let his act slip though when the green eyed man completely blocked him from having any fun, so he just smiled and propped his head up on the table with his arm. He chuckled softly, blue eyes obviously giving the other a once over. He loved playing Italian, he got to do almost whatever he wanted and not get smacked for it.

"Non lo sono." Jones answered simply and tilted his head more dramatically, his hair shining slightly in the sun. "It seems your native language is not this beautiful one. Where are you from?" Accent still in place as he asked.

A wide brow tipped up as he caught Jones looking him up and down. The male on the other side of the table frowned and glanced around at the canal, watching the water shimmer as the sun glided on top of it. But he was busy. He could not spend a while wasting time willy-nilly. He sighed and answered in full English, accent blaring. "England," he said, eyeing the other suspiciously. "You can stop pretending you're Italian now. I figured that out before I sat down."

Inside he went cold at his sham being brought into the light, but his smile remained as he shrugged his shoulder slightly as if he grew disinterested, then called at the waiter for a refill. He smiled when the boy finally noticed him and quickly ran into the cafe to get him another drink.

"If you say so." He said softly, accent still in full as he turned to look out at the Grand Canal. "English, mmm?" He picked the straw from his glass and placed it in his mouth, chewing on it slightly in boredom.

Whoever said he was not Italian could go snuff themselves. He was Italian. A good quarter of him was at least, Sicilian to be exact. Italians could have blonde hair and blue eyes as well. He wiped at the back of his neck and rolled the straw from one side of his mouth to the other.

"So, what do you need with me?" He watched Arthur from the corner slyly, daring the man to say he wasn't Italian again.

"Look, while I commend your accent, I'd really like it if you stopped trying to play this silly mind fuck game with me. You're... what are you..." the male looked at the agent, eyes bearing into him as if he was studying his face - which was exactly what he was doing. He licked his lips and gave a knowing nod. "I'd say quarter at best. Your nose arch his much more Polish than roman, and those cheekbones would suggest a bit of Anglo and Irish blood in you. Not to mention, your skin tone is irregular for around here. Tanned but not really olive in complexion enough for a life in Italy."

He then smirked. "Also, are your contacts sore? Your eyes are watering slightly."

"Mmm... A regular Sherlock." Alfred smirked as he let the accent continue. This man was trained for  _something_. But then again so was he, and his smirk just grew. "It's nice to know you can tell when someone doesn't have twenty-twenty. I'm sure it  _really_  comes in handy, no?" Sarcasm dripped off his words heavily and he glanced down at his black worn converse sneakers and rolled his eyes. "As for my face, I'm sure you have heard of people coming to other countries and procreating with the natives right? After all, your English... you guys should have a  _really_ good idea about that one."

He did not know what it was about this man, but it brought out the worst in him. He wanted to see the man knocked down a peg. He smiled at the waiter boy happily when he had brought him back a nice cold coke, and thanked the boy in Italian.

"You are really a difficult character, aren't you?" the other blond said, before shaking his head. "Fair enough. I could have sworn you weren't from here, but I suppose anything's possible. Just had a niggling feeling. Since you're clearly not the man I'm looking for, I'll stop wasting your time," he said, and pushed back his seat so he could get out.

Another check of his pocket watch, and he glanced at the other tables quickly. He did not find who he was looking for, and apparently that made him even more stressed. A hand ran through his hair, and the Briton cursed. "... _Bloody Hell_..." He muttered, as he left the agent's side without a goodbye and started to quickly walk off, fetching his mobile phone from his pocket.

Jones glanced over at his notebook that by the orange light blinking he could tell had gone into sleep mode, and he really didn't want to start up on his paperwork again. Call him a procrastinator but he been working on that thing for hours now, so it was time for a bit of break. He stood up and placed a good number of Euros on the table, enough to cover the bill and a nice sized tip. Picking up his messenger bag he had laid beside him, he slid his notebook in easily and started after the man. "Hey, hey! You are not wasting my time."

Sure, the guy could be really annoying but he seemed like he needed help and Jones was always up for helping people. Did not hurt that when the guys cheeks were flushed from the sun he looked pretty nice. Why not play with an Italian stereotype for his own amusement?

"Let me help you, yes?" He held out his hand for the Briton to shake and smiled. "My name is Natale. Yourself?"

The larger browed individual looked at 'Natale' and maintained his scowl, as if he really was not that interested. But still he held his hand out and shook the 'Italian's' own firmly. Whoever the man was, had a very good handshake, it had to be said. Confident but without uncomfortable squeezing. He must be an accomplished businessman of sorts. That was what his suit suggested, at least. "James Smith," he said. "Sorry, I don't believe I asked you to come along."

Another brilliant wide grin made it onto his face as Jones shrugged, and kept his hand on the other's a bit longer than necessary. "It's alright. I could tell you are in need of help, so you didn't have to ask." He gave the Briton a cheeky grin and finally let go of his hand before slinging an arm around James's shoulder and pulling the man close to him. "So, this Ludwig man you are looking for... friend? Business partner?  _Lover_?" He teased, but he was a bit curious as well.

Oh bother. He had picked up a troublesome local. Just his luck. It wasn't his fault that he was the only person there at that café with the description of blond and blue eyed, muscular chap. James sighed, formulating an excuse quickly.

"If you  _must_  know... he was a date. A blind date." It was a better excuse than anything else. Say business partner, and he'd be hassled about  _what it was for_. Say friend, and he would wonder why he had not recognised that he was not there. Plus, if he was homophobic, then this blighter of a local would  _leave_. For the first time in his life, he hoped for the latter. "I suppose I was stood up."

Jones made a soft sound of sympathy and gave the man's shoulder a good squeeze. "Poor thing, to be stood up in Italy of all places. Only place that would be sadder is if it happened France." He stuck close to the Briton, keeping an arm around James's shoulder and keeping physical contact with the man at all times. Jones smiled charmingly when a few women passed by and giggled when he told them how lovely they were. He then laughed and pressed a kiss to the Briton's flushed cheek.

"Do not worry, I have only eyes for you though."

Oh, to be Italian.

If James was red underneath the suit before, he certainly was red now. He cursed in English. Not only had he seemingly picked up an Italian, but he also seemed to be the sort that was flirtatious with  _everyone_  and had utterly no sense of personal space. "Do you  _mind_? Perhaps you do not know English custom, but you are a stranger. I do not let  _strangers_  touch me like this," he glared.

"I have things to do. Kindly let go of me." Things to do? Sod off, James. He had  _nothing_  to do, without his informant except find new leads. The other  _knew_  his evening was free now. Dammit.

Jones just smiled and kept his body close to the Briton, pressing their sides to each other and laying his head on James's shoulder. "Oh come on. Your date did not show so what else do you have to do?" The bright blonde laughed and took Arthur by the hand and pulled him along, taking him only God knew where.

"I'll show you the sights and treat you to some good food." He let his eyebrows waggle a bit as he pulled the other flushed against him and smiled softly. "How does that sound, James?" He purred the man's name softly.

"Get your head off of my shoulder. You're taller than me and your bending down far too much. It's unsightly," James groaned. It seemed that this man was content to complain about, well, _everything_. He cleared his throat, lingering only in the embrace because he was reluctant to just tell the other, Natale, to get bent and leave him be. Especially considering, well, he  _was_ quite attractive. He sighed. A working man  _did_  need his time off, sometimes.

"...Very well." He said. "Dinner sounds nice. Though you better be paying. I shan't attend if not."

Jones laughed happily and nodded, keeping the man close. "Of course. What kind of man would I be if I asked you out and didn't pay?" Honestly he could care less about paying, having unlimited funds while on missions was pretty fucking awesome as long as he convinced Bullick that the spending was necessary to the mission. He grinned happily and leaned his forehead against the others, loving how forward he could act without any repercussions.

"So... James." Blue eyes looked down into green and he licked his lips slightly. "What does an Englishman want to see in wonderful Venice?"

It was rather strange how he had gotten into this mess. Still, since he was along for the ride tonight, the least he could do was enjoy it. Perhaps he could learn a bit more about the location. It would not be a wasted night. Nor, James was happy to remember, a wasted suit.

"Why else, but for the carnival in a few days time?" He said simply. There would be quite a few foreigners beginning to arrive now, for the Venetian carnival celebration. He glanced away, blushing, trying to deny that Natale's clear flirts were working on him. Why did he have to fall so easy to a bit of attention and pampering?

Jones smiled widely and kissed the man's cheek again, then pulled out of the embrace and tugged James along. "Come on! I have much to show you." He would take the Briton around to the lead tourist sites that he had read about in the book he bought before coming over here. Plus, he'd been here a few times before so it wouldn't be that hard for 'Natale' to show this man around and have a good time.

Now he just had to think of a good restaurant…

* * *

That evening had ended relatively gently. It had been a night that both participants had enjoyed, but nothing more came of it. They kissed once, lightly, on the lips next to the grand canal, before they both went their separate ways. That should have been the end of it. Should, being such a key word.

It was probably the best (albeit impromptu) date Arthur had ever had in his life. That was so depressing, knowing that he would never be able to do it again.

He already missed those attractive blue eyes.

Later in the week, the sun only got brighter, smiling down on the carnival as it started with much merriment. A plethora of frills, colours and textures filled the streets with masked outfits and their fitters; from plague doctor to Bauta to Volto masks, differing themes and hundreds of artistic and expensive visions. Streets littered with joy and celebration.

As he had promised the 'Italian', spy agent James Smith was lingering there somewhere in the carnival fray - rather conspicuously. After finally contacting the man he had been at the café to see, he had received his lead. A suspected freelance ex-mafia member that was smuggling weapons to the UK and her allies was confirmed to be somewhere here in the streets of Venice. All he had to do was gather the identity of the individual and evidence. But identity was difficult in a carnival dedicated to anonymous men and women. All he knew was where he was expected to show up, and a vague description of his costume. The informant had seen it.

It would help, of course, if he could see much in front of him. His own outfit simply was  _not_  working, but he didn't have a chance to get changed. Not to mention, it was performing a certain illusion that was designed for him to trick the suspect.

It was not his fault he was tied into doing such a depressing job.

It just so happened that he was dealing with a womaniser, and  _he_  was the most slender and womanly shaped male in the entirety of Her Majesty's Secret Service.

Silly female agents for all being busy with other ventures. He could have sworn he was made to come out here on purpose.

The  _dress_  he was wearing, as he stayed determinedly out of the sun and into the cooling shade - which barely helped, he would be quick to point out, because it was still about 28 degrees Celsius in here - was certainly not designed for comfort. Why was it so hot? It was  _Spring_. Was this where British summers went? No wonder it was bloody cold most of the year back home. The Italians were stealing all the sun. He furiously batted the gigantic white and feathered fan towards his face - disguised behind a rounded white and silver, glittery, mask - just  _trying_  to get some much needed air.

His dress, might he also point out, was  _bloody heavy_. The rich, jade green and hand stitched silver markings, and the huge bulbous shape was  _lovely_ for showing off his particularly outstanding hips, of course, but it definitely was not designed with too much movement in mind. Also, the dark green and silvery corset did not help him either. He had curves already, but apparently  _someone_  thought he could do with even more of a hand in looking feminine.

Well, lob his bollocks off and call him 'Nancy'. He might as well surrender his masculinity over, right now.

So, his ribs were being crushed. His mask only had breathing holes under his nostrils and at the opening of his mouth, and he couldn't take it off else he break his intentionally flirtatious cover (God, he could feel sweat drip down the blasted thing, down his cheeks). All coupled together with the fact that it was blistering, and Arthur was  _useless_  with temperatures like this. He _wished_  he had requested for him to have back-up. Oh, how he wished it.

Batting the fan didn't work. He couldn't even take off his dark silver gloves, either, because they were trapped on with a load of rings. Was it April? The First? He could  _swear_  that the chaps back home were doing this as some sort of practical joke.

Still. He had to brave it and put on a professional face. Even if he felt  _so faint_. So,  _so_  faint. He could barely breathe. He really was going to suffocate soon, if this continued for much longer. As it was, he was making slight moaning noises as he panted for air through the mask - which might have been why no one else was here with him under one of the building alcoves, holding on desperately onto one of the pillars.

Fuck, he could do this. He would not call and abandon the mission. He had  _never_  abandoned a mission. His Queen and country NEEDED him. Need! James gasped uselessly and peered out into the sun, looking for a certain man in a certain outfit.

When he thought he saw them, the person he had been waiting for - though it could be his eyes being disappointingly deceitful - he took a few steps forwards before just  _falling_  - smacking straight into another's path. His legs having given out.

Strong arms quickly moved around the man, helping him stand up-right while letting him lean on the other.

"Whoa... hey there. You okay?" The accent was different but the voice was familiar as the man moved Arthur back to lean against the wall. He was covered from head to toe in bright orange and deep red silk and velvet, his hat having large plumes of feathers coming out from the back. He looked like a high class pirates from the old ages with his white porcelain mask covered with the same colors of his clothes while gold trimmed the edges.

"Miss?" He asked again, pulling up the man's mask in order to see if, what he assumed was a woman, was alright. The man paused when he noticed two busy eyebrows and a face, that while soft, was still a bit too masculine to be a woman's. A face he recognised. "Ah..."

"G-Give... nngh... give me that back...!" James panted as he reached out for the mask and took it back from the unknown male, unaware that he had ran into the person before. The hands did feel familiar as they were steadying him. He was having an obviously hard time breathing, and had to gasp for every second breath. Now was not the time to get so picky about disguising himself, but he could not jeopardise the mission. Even if he  _was_  practically expiring in this. "...o-oh God...  _dammit_..."

The man frowned under his mask and lifted it up in order to see the Briton better and as to why he looked like he was about to fall over. Familiar bright blue eyes showed through better and blonde hair stuck out from under his huge hat.

"What's wrong with you? You look really sick." He didn't even cover up his flat American accent anymore, this guy looked ready to pass out as he continued to help the man stand.

"Why the hell you dressed as a chick anyways?" ' _Natale_ ' glanced back over his shoulder to watch something then turned back to the Briton. "James? Are you okay? Do you need a drink?"

James looked at the other through the slits of the mask, still panting away - his breath unable to be found. He made a noise just like a laugh. "...I-I k-knew it!" He declared.

"I don't know how, but I knew it—I knew you weren't Italian...!" James said, far too happily, and folded like a house of cards straight into Natale's arms again. "O-oh my life...  _fuck_ —Sorry—The—heat—it's... n-ngh..."

Well,  _shit_.

Natale glanced over his shoulder again, making sure that he had not missed his chance to finish what he came here for and picked up the Briton completely, glad the man had his mask back on so it looked more like Natale was carrying a woman. He ran as quickly as he could back to his hotel which was luckily only a few streets down from where he had to be.

He received many odd looks as he came flying into the hotel and made a bee line for the elevator, many whispering behind their hands. He wasn't surprised. A man and 'woman' in full carnival wear come bursting in; the 'woman' unconscious and the man running up to a hotel room. Oh yeah, so totally not weird.

When the elevator chimed he quickly moved in and jammed the button of his floor and quickly closed the door. While he waited for the elevator to move, he looked over the Briton as he leaned him against the wall. "Sorry about this dude..." He then felt around the man's waist and frowned when he felt something hard.

"What the fuck?" Natale whispered as he pulled the dress open, only to find a fucking corset. "You're kidding me! No wonder you're dying! In this heat and outfit, then you add a  _corset_?"

He knew the man could not hear him, but really? He frowned as he started to tear at the Briton's ties on the corset and when James had enough room to breathe and the door chimed he picked the blond back up and carried him to his room.

Luckily, he had cleaned up most of his stuff so that if James were to wake up he would not find anything incriminating. He slid his card into the slot and sighed when the light turned green and he all but fell into his room with the Briton.

"Alright..." He muttered softly and he carried James over to the bed and laid him down on the bed. He pulled off the mask and head dress the man wore and helped work the Briton at least half way out of the huge dress so he could breath better. At least this hotel had air conditioning.

"Okay... Umm… Ah! Water!" Natale quickly got a bottle from the mini fridge and placed it next to James's head on the night stand, then he glanced at the clock on the same table and cursed. He was supposed to be down there thirteen minutes ago.

"Ahh... Please don't wake up before I get back!" He checked his pockets to make sure he still had the piano wire inside and the capsule for the information and was out of there quicker than a jack rabbit.

* * *

It was a while later when James opened his eyes again, though it did not seem like long. It was still warm and the sun was high in the sky as ever, though plunging steadily into the mid-afternoon. He gave a soft mumble, and changed position. Gosh, his sides were so sore. He felt like he was caving into pieces.

"…N-Nmm..." Opening his eyes, he suddenly remembered himself.  _Fuck_. He had lost track of the mission. There was no way he would get the information now! Especially with this dress being impossible to breathe in... and...

He stopped. Where was he? Looking around, James was horrified to find that he was in a hotel room. Someone's hotel room, not his. Not to mention, his dress was undone and so was the corset - showing his plain but smooth and glorious chest and abdomen off. He checked for marks. How did he get here?

With a frightened thought, James slipped his hands into the skirt of the dress and checked his underwear was, well,  _still there_. Also his, erm. In his defence, he didn't think he would have been raped. He just wanted to make sure. No, not loose. He hadn't been drugged or anything of the sort.

He slipped his legs out of the dress, revealing waxed legs and the female underwear he was wearing- for just in case his target or someone had lifted the back of his skirt and called his buff. Rolling over onto his stomach, he pointed his feet as he reached in his dress and pulled out a device for communication. AKA a pager. Old school.

' _Mission Failed. Sorry. I am safe. I think._ '

Soon the door made a soft clicking sound the signalled it was being unlocked and the knob turned.

Quietly, Natale slipped back into the room with a bucket of ice. He was now in just jeans and a tank top, the carnival still going outside but he had finished his job and was now going to worry about the man he had stashed up in his room in a dress. He sighed happily, feeling much better in a pair of jeans and a tank top than all that frill and velvet and it was cooler now that the sun had gone down thankfully.

James made a noise of surprise and stuffed the pager back from where he retrieved it, before sitting up and tugging the dress over his almost entirely naked person. "O-Oi, do you m-mind?" He called out, human reactions because sometimes agents are not robots in suits, and then narrowed his eyes with scepticism when he recognised the man.

"Ah, of course, it's you. I remember..." he murmured, lowering the dress and showing his top half off - until he re-remembered that he was bared and hiked it back up again. "...Natale. Funny, I really don't think you'd have a name like that, with an accent like  _yours_."

"Oh... geez. James you scared the shit outta me." Natale jumped slightly when he heard shifting coming from the other side of the room but sighed in relief when he remembered that he had the Briton in his room. He placed the bucket of ice on the counter of the small bar in the room and turned to give the man a slightly unhappy look before he dramatically sighed and waved his hand in the air. "Yeah, alright. You got me. I'm Italian, but not like...  _native_  Italian."

He rolled his shoulders slightly and turned to the ice bucket, popping a piece in his mouth and sucking on it while trying to frown. "Born and raised an American..." He looked at James again and frowned.

"And you? Business man by day and tranny by er... later afternoon?"

"I'm not a..." James stopped where he was, cogs in his mind whirring as he saw it from the American's perspective. He had been wearing a dress for no seeming reason. How did he come up with an excuse for that? "...It's not my choice. The other person I was with went to get us some drinks and he got lost or something. I don't know. I was doing the female role because we don't have any girls in our group and I had the largest hips relative to smallest body - alright? I'm not proud of it."

There, that made sense. Fitted with his story so far.

"...So, you're not Natale then? Why were you pretending to be Italian? Come on, answers, chop chop. Also, I suppose  _this_  is why you never brought me back to your house, the other evening!" Rather than the American losing interest, it was because he didn't  _have_  a house? This was clearly a hotel suite.

Natale couldn't help but chuckle around the piece of ice quickly melting in his mouth when the Briton seemed to get so upset about being lied to. "Chill dude. You were a stranger, why would I give you my identity when I didn't know you?" He smirked slightly and thought about the past few days with James and he played with the hem of his tank top for a few seconds. "Plus, you seemed to like Natale so well, why change?" He shrugged, not really wanting to explain anymore even if it made no sense to the man.

"The name is Al."

"Ah, here I thought you were a student trying to see whether or not you could easily blend in with the locals, for your Italian course at university or college or whatever you will call it in the States. But that begs a bigger question, Al..." James said, watching over him curiously. "...Why would you call it  _identity_ , rather than name? You're not trying to be a clever little secret agent or something, are you? Those people are far smarter than that. Incidentally," he straightened up, and reached his hand out.

"I lied too. My name is Art. Art Smith, silly name, I know. I blame my parents. They were also the ones that told me to always lie when I don't know of someone before meeting them to prevent stalkers. But now you've taken me to your hotel room, I suppose that precaution isn't needed anymore. Now,  _Al_... Al, as in... Big Al? How American of you. Al, Alfie, Alfred, Alvin?"

The gold blonde snorted slightly at the name and he rolled his eyes, so blue even in the lamps light. He then moved over to Ja- _Art_ and stood in front of him, the last piece of ice finally melting in his mouth as he smirked. "Secret agent, eh? I kind of like the sound of that." Best way to steer from the truth was to dance in the middle of it.

"So, if you lied about your name... were you lying about how much you liked me?" He moved closer to the Briton, fingers playing with the skin on Art's arm softly.

Blue eyes pinning green.

Art snorted, and let their eyes lock for a good few seconds, before he was shifting. He left the dress behind, and approached Al until they were only a few inches away from their bodies touching. "Would you be disappointed if I said yes?" He asked.

"If you  _must_ know, Al, I went out with you because I had nothing planned for the evening. As it happens, I have nothing now, either. So... I hope you're smart enough to derive an answer from that?" He said, and leant back down against the bed; scandalous smirk on his face. A trickster of a man. "Can't say no to an attractive man after he effectively kidnaps me and locks me up in his room. Although, perhaps  _saved_  floats your boat better? Americans and their hero complexes."

_He wanted him._ Gosh, he was so silly. How could he want someone that he had only been on one date with so, so much? It barely made sense.

There was something about him, that Al. Something that he felt like he could connect with. But what? What  _was_  it?

Oh, a one night stand in Italy, a country of romance, was not that bad.

Blue eyes glinted and a lazy cocky smile slid across Al's lips as he moved over to the bed and shoved the Briton down onto his back. "Please... You're not locked up in any way." He propped himself up on his arms, one on either side of Art's head, and he smiled down at the man.

"You could have left at anytime." Arrogance shone brightly in those cornflower colored eyes and he leaned down, sweeping a soft kiss across the Briton's lips. He pulled back by a hair and gazed into Art's green eyes with a heavy look. "You still have a choice,  _Artie_."

It had been a long time since Art had a good-looking man hanging over him with such nice eyes and such a physique, calling out a pet name for him so eagerly. He gave a dirty laugh. "I had only been awake for a minute or so before you got here. Besides, I'm... slightly...  _lacking in clothing_ ," he said, gesturing to his almost naked self.

"I don't suppose you'll help me get dressed again,  _will you_?" He pecked Al's lips again, and winked. Come and get it.

_It was instant_.

The moment Art had teased and winked Al's lips were on his, crushing and demanding as he cupped the pale man's face. Was it stupid for him to sleep with someone he had just met a few days ago?  _Yes_. But there were far stupider people in the world and plus he had protection in his bag, not that he was expecting to get laid on the job. No. He growled softly and gripped the man's hips tightly, surely to leave bruises later for how white this man was. "Jesus, you're pale, you an' that," He grunted against the man's lips.

Art kept that knowing but devious look on his face, like he could tell that Al was physically attracted to him, despite these things actually being flaws. Pale wasn't in fashion, and it burnt easily, after all. He must have liked his hips too. Al's hands were squishing his sides, trapping him firmly beneath him.

"Oh please, you know your gagging for a bit of my succulent flesh, my sweet," he said, rolling his hips up and grinding their crotches together. He gave a satisfied mewl. "M-Mm... you know, I have people that might think I'm missing. You better get on and ravish me before I change my mind."

The American snorted softly when the Briton continued to taunt and tease him, this guy was something else. Over the past five days he was able to be himself, or himself with an outer Italian layer, but he was able to be goofy smiling Al Jones. Not that serious, emotionless CIA Operations Officer stuff that they drilled into him twenty-four seven when he was training. "You're so weird." He commented with a smirk and then groaned softly when Art ground up against him and he moved to kiss the man's neck.

"So, Artie..." He teased the white delicate skin on Art's neck with his teeth, loving how easily marks appeared on the man's skin. "What's a English businessman doing on a blind date... all the way in Italy?" Al let his hand snake down Art's chest, tweaking a nipple slightly then rolling it between two of his fingers. "And if you need, after I fuck your brains out of course, you can call your 'group' on my cell." Blunt short nails scraped down the English man's stomach.

Little touches managed to do the worse of things to the smaller male. It was not every day that Art was getting pleasured by a handsome man. He might imagine it often, but he was by no means a whore - besides, excessive sex would make his body less reactive. All things that he found previous partners enjoying. He gave a grunt, close-mouthed, lingering in his throat as Al pinched and tugged on him like he was just a play thing.

"Who knows if I was even telling the truth?" Art hissed, wincing as tingles shot from his nipple outwards as it was fondled with. "Maybe I wanted an excuse to chat to a gorgeous man. Maybe I wanted you all to myself, like this..."

Al rolled his eyes and smirked at the man's reply. "Oh, really?" He asked softly and he let his hand lay lightly on the lace women's panties the man wore. A thin blonde eyebrow arched in question at Art with the question of his choice in underwear.

"Wow, you dressed as a women down to a T, didn't you? Your dedicated to your act." He praised and started to rub his palm against the bulge in the Briton's panties, his own member aching as he watched this man. It was weird. This was the first person he was going to be sleeping with after the whole thing with his wife.

And it was a one night stand.

That didn't sound like him at all, but it was Italy and he had done well on his mission. He deserved some fun... right? Al nodded to himself and told himself to stop thinking of things that were most likely going to ruin the mood. He fixed his concentration back onto Art and smiled.

"So, who's Ludwig?" His hand moved inside the underwear and rubbed the tips of his fingers over the Briton's leaking cock.

Art expanded his legs and watching in-between them as Al expertly touched him, feeling out the curvature of his trapped cock underneath the ladies underwear. The lace scratched into him, but it wasn't too much of a snag and strangely, it was a good pain. He jolted his hips upwards, seeking more of it. This wasn't his first one night stand, but Christ, was it the hottest. Sex with a man he barely knew was always thrilling.

"He was supposed to be in my troupe for the carnival. We're designers, you see. Worked together on the designs. I blame him for my corset." He excused his behaviour. "I would have brought you to my place before, but there's a competition here, you know. Didn't want any of our designs to be leaked. And I will say, I look  _bloody good_  in that frock. Even if I almost passed away in it."

A designer? _Interesting_.

Al let his hand wrap around the man's cock and started to slowly pump him dry, letting his mouth move to Art's shoulder and mark him a bit more. He shuddered slightly as he ground his clothed member down onto the others thigh, making it quite obvious he was enjoying this just as much as the other. Then a thought struck him and he quickly stilled his hand and looked up into Art's green gaze.

"Erm… okay. It's not the first time I have fooled around with a guy, but I'm really not keen on you sticking anything anywhere. So, you okay being the bottom...? I don't really want to, er, just, ya know." He trailed off not really knowing how to express that thought, eyes moving to look at the wall across the room. He didn't dare move until this guy told him it was alright or that he was going to leave.

Art gave an agitated grunt when Al stopped trying to pleasure him, but when his words fell out of his mouth uncertainly, he was most definitely all-ears. He listened, and right at the end he emitted an accidental laugh. He didn't want to seem rude, so he had to explain.

"That's alright. Because I have absolutely no desire to top in the slightest," he said, but kept the reasoning to himself. A stranger didn't need to know why he wanted to receive rather than give. But he would answer if asked. It wasn't like mentioning his sexual preferences would jeopardise his identity.

"...Al, I want your cock inside me." He said confidently, eyes burning with desire.

_It was not submission, but demanding and wanting. He wanted it like this._

The American looked back in shock. No guy he had ever known would willingly be the bottom, even if they were gay or not. A slow wide grin made it onto his face and he pressed his lips to the Briton's, while his hand started back up. Alfred pressed his tongue against Art's lips almost not even asking but more demanding entrance. His and stopped pumping to tug at the side of the man's frilly panties and he grinned.

"Hope you don't need these again." With a sharp tug he snapped the fragile fabric on the side and started to slip the ruined underwear down a long thing pale leg.

Yes, the Brit had his reasons. If he didn't want to be underneath the American, would he  _really_ have given himself over? No. No, not at all. He was strong enough to handle himself and he could have taken what he wanted from the other if that was the case. But no. It just so happened that Art craved for receiving, and that was just what Al wanted to give.  _It didn't make Art any less of a man_. It just meant that he liked taking a bit of cock. That's all.

Sexual.  _Preferences_.

Their saliva dripped off his lips as Al finished ravishing them apart with his tongue. He sniggered and let Al take off his underwear completely. Now, he was naked beneath a fully clothed man. Sexy. Art eyed his partner, batting his eyelashes to try drive him crazy. Bisexual, probably. Maybe that was why he wanted to fuck him and not receive. Because he didn't find it attractive, and just did not mind what gender bent over for him and let him plough in. With a body like Al's, trapped under all those clothes like a crime, he was sure almost anyone would obey. He rolled onto his front, giving Al his blank canvas to work with. "Don't suppose you've got a Johnny and some lube?"

Al chuckled slightly and leaned down to kiss the man's back softly before he leapt off the bed and walked over to his suit case and duffle bag. "I'm only guessing here, but I'm pretty sure you mean a rubber. Right?" He bent down and unzipped the duffle bag, pulling out his wallet with the fake ID he had been given and flipped to the back of the leather pouch. Ah, there we go. He snickered a bit when the label read, 'Ribbed for Her Pleasure'. "Ha... Awesome."

He glanced around a found a small bottle of travel shampoo and plucked it from the plastic bag in his carry on. "Hope you don't mind herbal essence." He joked as he moved back over to the bed and climbed on, setting the condom and lube to the side as he pulled off his tank top and threw it to the floor. Blue eyes raked over that perfectly smooth white skin on Art's back and he whistled softly.

"Your skin puts girls to shame." As he unbuttoned his jeans he let his eyes roam over the man's surprisingly round backside.

"What, the smoothness? Oh, it's natural. You like it?" Art purred. Every male that he had had in his bed was the same; appreciative, and allured by the fact that his entire body was the same colour and mostly hairless apart from where it mattered most. Not that it was entirely natural. A waxing every so often did the trick. What sort of genetic mishap would he be without it? He opened his legs slightly, letting Al settle behind him. "I'm not used to too many one night stands like this, so you better make sure I'm prepared and ready for you..." He was not some sort of floppy slut. Oh no. Pleasurably tight, he hoped.

"Oh, okay." Al replied rather lamely as he finished undoing his jeans and quickly shimmed out of them along with his boxers and laid his hands on the man's soft behind and gave a squeeze. When Art was turned away from him, manhood pressed into the mattress, it was hard to even tell the man was... well… a man. He was so…

"Beautiful," Al whispered softly then gulped and grabbed for the bottle of shampoo before the Briton could ask what he said. He popped the top and poured a very generous amount onto his fingers, the smell of rose filling the room.

"Mm, herbal essences. I don't suppose you have that advert where a bunch of women wash themselves with it and sound like they're having multiple orgasms, in America, do you?" Art conversed, trying to make light conversation while the other got ready to start prepping him. It was topical, after all. He gave a loud, forced moan like the women in the adverts, just to show off to Al how sexy he could get. Teasing. Daring.

_These are the noises you can emit from me, if you try hard enough_.

"Geez, either your lying and you do this all the time and know how to rile a guy up, or you honestly haven't been laid in forever and are just letting everything out." He smirked darkly as he inserted a finger into the man, not slowly either. If Art was going to be a little tease like that then he would have to show him that he doesn't take teasing lightly. Al leaned over to nuzzle the man's shoulder before he bit into it roughly, finger working deeply.

"About a year. Is that a long time?" Art asked, before he gave a loud and startled gasp when he was suddenly penetrated by Al's finger. Not even any warning. With the shampoo and the fact that he wasn't a virgin, it didn't hurt, but it still jabbed him pretty roughly and forced his hips down against the bed - making his cock grind into the soon to be very ruffled sheets. "...Ngh!"

He gave another noise at Al biting into his shoulder, initially deceived into thinking the American was going to be loving with him. Oh, oh, oh.  _Silly him_. "Ah, you know how to treat a man." He said only half-sarcastically. He liked rough sex sometimes too.

Blue eyes rolled when he heard the sarcasm but he eased up and was gentler on the man, easing his finger in and out of that tight hole. "Oh, I  _do_. Just gotta show me you deserve it." He purred softly and licked Art's shoulder where the bite mark showed easily on that perfect skin then moved up to kiss the nape of the Briton's neck.

"So, tell me." He whispered into the other's ear, letting his tongue swipe at the shell. "How do you want it?" He sucked on that cute little ear lobe for a moment, letting it go with a soft pop. "Soft?" He inserted a second finger slowly, making sure it eased in comfortably. Then his free hand gripped Art's hip tightly, fingernails digging in and he probed his finger deeply inside the man. "Or Hard." His pace quickened.

Art ducked his head in reaction to Al's teasing licks and sucks at his neck and his ear and any available and unmarked skin he could reach. Already the spot where Al had bitten into his shoulder was beginning to show up as a bruise. He was as easily marked as a peach.

"...A-ah..." Art gasped as Al started to work two fingers inside of him now, winding them in and out his steadily stretching hole. Al's administrations made him stiffen and close his eyes, paying attention to the feeling as he was impaled and violated willingly by the digits. It was starting to give his body a painful buzz, but not something that was overly unpleasant.

"Hard." He found himself suggesting. "Be rough with me."

"Mmmm..." Al let out a pleased sound as the fingers continued to abuse Art's hole, a third finger that was slicked and ready moving in to join. "So, the prude man who said kissing in public was rude and undignified turns out to like it rough, fast and dirty." He smirked as he took Art's wrists in his free hand and brought them up behind the man's back, tugging upward and making the English man arch his upper half up off the mattress. Bending the Briton like a bow.

"I'm just not an exhibitionist—Nhhng..." Art groaned as Al kept thrusting his digits inside of him. There was something comforting to Art about one night stands. Honestly, commitment in his current job scared him. Could be used against him. He wouldn't wish that upon anybody. He was married to his job, and that would suit him just fine. No need to worry about coming home alive. Just home successful.

…Which, today, he screwed up, for actually the first time. Might as well receive a good fuck to compensate.

"So, tell me what else you like?" Al whispered lowly, keeping Art's arms and hands up as he continued to finger him.

"Do what you will. I only want you deep in me tonight, and I don't care how you do it." Art hissed as he stretched his body upwards, pressing against Al's and rubbing the sweat their bodies had accumulated together. The position was useless for him to resist, but it did the purpose. To arouse. Perfect.

"You don't care...? Mmm?" Al shook his head slightly, Art was apparently either a really horny guy or just a kinky bastard. He didn't mind either since he was the first and kinda really needed this after about a year and a half of nothing. The American continued his ministrations with his fingers and pulled the Briton tighter back then pulling his fingers out and actually pulling Art up completely until the Briton was on his knees, his back still facing Al. He kissed Art's neck softly before he took the condom and awkwardly tore it open by bringing his soaped hand up to the hand holding Art up, then he slid the rubber on and smirked.

"Let's see how hard you can take it, eh?"

Art glanced over his shoulder, trying to see what Al was doing. It was mostly not effective. All he could see was a portion of his own shoulder and a bit of Al's body behind him. It did not give him any lead. Looks like he really would be taken off-guard. Which was hotter than Art would like to admit. He might have been an agent but sometimes it was when you had no information that was most thrilling. He faced forwards, closing his eyes and waiting. His body tingled internally in anticipation, filled with want for the American liar.

Sliding his shampoo slicked finger up Art's cleft and teasing the hole with a few prods, Al could help but smirk as he pressed the tip of his cock to nudge in-between the man's cheeks. He just rubbed against the Briton for a bit before he pulled away, nothing touching Art except for the hand holding his arms above his head. Then before Art could question, Al pushed deeply into him, remaining completely still so the Briton could grow used to his length and size. "Mmm... nn..." He growled against Art's skin, slick hand moving to grip the man's pale hip tightly.

Having not seen how large Al was, since he had been facing forward ever since before he had stripped his jeans and boxers off, Art had no idea what to expect. When he felt Al press against his entrance, he did not actually think it was him. He forgot how much a struggle taking a man was. But it was exactly that which he enjoyed. As the larger male pushed forwards, into him quite forcibly, Art could only gag on the air and toss his head back in exclamation. His walls suddenly forced to contend with something far larger than fingers. It burned, muscles stretched to the brim - just enough room for Arthur to not be excruciated by it. His face lit up with difficulty. "A-agh..." he murmured. " _Christ_ , Al-l..." Close eyes, close mouth, breathe, open eyes, _breathe_.

The American did his best to calm down while his cock was encased in something so tight and wonderful it made his toes curl slightly. "Jesus!" He breathed harshly against Art's shoulder and his entire body shook for a moment. When he heard Art mutter softly, he was worried he had hurt the man and quickly moved to kiss his neck doing his best to say he was sorry.

"S-sorry... sorry..." He gulped and tried not to focus on what his head down below was telling him to do. "Tell me when to move... I don't want to hurt you..."

" _Gosh_ ," Art gave out under his breath, barely audible even here in the otherwise empty hotel room. His body tightened and released around the American as he struggled to adjust, but eventually it came to a manageable level. He tried to twist his head to look at Al, again, but he was not an owl and not particularly inhumanly flexible in the neck-area. He did manage to stretch so Al's chin was in view, though, and Art gave it a light kiss, before he hissed and looked forwards again.

"I-I had no idea you were so..." Art moaned and gave a titter. "I knew you'd be... but...  _oh_. Oh, Al. Move."

Al let out a soft breath and grunted into Art's ear as he received permission to move. He nodded slowly and moved his other hand up, taking one of Art's hand in each hand and pressed them against the wall in front of the Briton. "Let's go then..." He whispered softly and kissed that small ear before he gave a soft buck of his hips and then pulled out, sliding back in with a rough loud hiss of pleasure. "O-Oh man..." The American breathed, feeling his skin start to tingle with pleasure.

Re-positioned, Art was now lingering over the headboard. He rested his cheek against the cold wallpaper of the hotel suite, letting that sensation mix with the one in his lower body - although there was no fooling his body to believe that the Yank's intrusion was any lesser. He would not lie - it hurt, but there was something splendid in that pain. It reminded him just how real this was. As Al started to thrust into the rarely defenceless Briton, he waited till he thought he understood Al's rhythm before trying to eagerly push back. "Ngh—!"

"Jesus!" Al gasped loudly when he felt the Briton start to move with him and he rested his chin on the man's thin bony shoulder. "You... you a-adjust fast, sweetness." He hadn't meant to give the guy a pet name, it's just something that happened with him. He gave almost everyone pet names or nick-names, and having sex was definitely not helping him keep up his emotional barrier. He licked his lips and intertwined their fingers as he gave another thrust, this time putting more into it.

"I'm known to adapt  _pretty sodding well_!" Art called back out to him. He was a little taken aback by the pet name, considering that they would not see each other after this bout of loud sex - but every man had their thing. Apparently Al's was to give endearing terms to people that do not, in the long scheme of things, matter. He placed his hands on the wall firmly, making sure the male's thrusts did not plough his hips painfully into the headboard in front. Small grunts left his throat, eyes fluttering as he concentrated on the constant movement of Al's cock sliding in and out, leaving him empty, or filling the void straight up. Just about fitting like a puzzle piece.

Maybe it was all in his pleasure fogged head, but Al found that Art smelled amazingly good. Plain ivory soap, vague soft scented shampoo, something that smelled like fragrant leaves, and then there was just the Briton. It made him shutter as he kissed the man's neck softly and continued to move his hips but breathed a question into Art's ear.

"May I look at you while we do this?" It was silly, really. But he hadn't had sex with anyone but her in so long, he needed to stop pretending it would happen.

He needed to know this was Art Smith... not  _Jasmina Jones_.

"Please..." He whispered softly, his hips stilling a bit.

The request surprised Art, because this gorgeous being actually wanted to see  _his_  face while they had sex. Sex, because it was not making love - they barely knew each other - but it was not emotionless fucking either. They did have a connection. If he was not an agent, perhaps he would have chased this up. It was rare that such a lovely, handsome looking man wanted not only to be inside you, but to pay attention to who you were as well. That was a man worth wanting. "Fine, just a second—Pull out, let me just..."

It was easy. Art was light and after all those years of being in the service made Al no weakling, so as soon as Art gave the word the blue eyed man pulled out and quickly spun the Briton around. Crushing his lips against the others, he pulled Art's legs up so that they hooked over his shoulder. Gripping the man's hips tightly, he let out a small breath between their lips as he pressed in again letting out a small whine as he did so.

"Oh... maaan. Ja..." He closed his eyes tightly and shook his head. No, this needed to end here. His eyes snapped back open and blue stared intensely into Art's green. "Art..." Al whispered softly and gave another thrust, his rhythm starting to pick up.

Was that almost another name? Oh, cry his heart out. It was always awful when your partner almost says another name. Rather than point it out, Art cupped the back of his head and let his fingers tighten in that messy and somewhat sweating mop of hair. "Arthur," he assisted. He did not know what made him point it out, but he did. "My full name—nn. It's Arthur."

Al licked his dry lips when the man gave him his full name, somehow it suited him far more than just Art. "A-Arthur..." He tried out softly, his breath hitching slightly from the heat starting to build in his stomach. He smiled a soft shaky smile and buried his nose into the Briton's neck with what sounded like a soft sob.

"Arthur..." He muttered against the man's skin and gave a particularly rough thrust. "Arthur... Arthur... Nnnn!" He bit down on Arthur's neck and the sudden wave of pleasure that hit him and he shuddered. "My... My name... I-is Alfred."

_Identity be damned._

"Ah, and here I—mmnh—Here I was worrying you were an Alvin," Arthur laughed at the idiocy of it, and felt the balls of his feet trace Alfred's back as the American continued to ravish his body, sinking deep into him with each throw-back of his hips. Arthur's own moved rhythmically, going with the flow Alfred was leading. A dance of sweating hips and thighs and junk. He pulled Alfred down, making him take a hard kiss before letting go. His eyes darkened lustfully, watching the male move and feeling him jerk forwards and back. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Alfred," Arthur said, cracking a smile.

Those green eyes.

They were beautiful.

_They weren't brown._

"Nice to meet you too, Arthurrr..." He smiled back and then pushed their lips together again, groaning loudly into the other's mouth as he pushed his tongue inside the Briton's mouth. He let one hand trail down Arthur's chest and stomach to grab a hold of the other man's cock, giving it a few sharp pumps. Alfred pulled back for air and smiled brilliantly down at the Briton. "You are definitely what the doctor ordered,  _Arthur_." He purred the man's name, loving that he was actually able to do this without feeling guilt or shame.

It was significantly harder to kiss convincingly when you were smiling like you were crooked mentally, but Arthur seemed to manage it. He groaned into the other's mouth, suckling on his tongue while Alfred gave him a few well-timed tugs. In their fast approaching finishing moments, Arthur's body felt like it was on fire. It was unlike other men he had bedded - so fulfilling, spreading from his fingers right to the tips of his toes. Burning passion, you might say. God, he was a living cliché. It frustrated him to no ends, as he panted loudly and arched deliriously as Alfred slammed into his prostate and let that burning spark a fuse for fireworks to spew and come to life behind his closed eyelids.

Alfred dug his fingers into Arthur's hips, his nails making small crescent shaped marks in that pretty white skin. Oh, he was close. The American licked his dry lips and ground his hips down further as he tried to push himself and Arthur over the edge, loving the sounds this guy made. Wonderfully soft and breathy but still very much male. Oh, yes. Arthur was  _just_  what he needed. He groaned out sharply as he placed one hand over Arthur's hardened nipples and gave it a pinch. "F-Fuck... Arthur... Arthur...  _Arthur_!"

"Nmm—Alfred!" It was rare, when he had sex, that Arthur would finish first. Usually they'd - his previous partners - finish with him and have to pump him till pleasure fulfilled his need, but Alfred was somehow able to do it all. Many senses of pleasure were tapped into at once, and that was just too much for him. He never expected to have the best shag he had ever gotten, thus far, in Italy - but it was an appropriate location for it.

"Alfred _, y-yes_..." Arthur looked so desperate and intense for just a split second - a vulnerability most never get to see unless they're above him - as he contorted and spasmed at the force of the orgasm Alfred spread through him; not focused just in his abdomen and hips, but in all of his body. "Alfred!"

The golden blonde gasped when he felt his hand fill with Arthur's seed and he gave a few extra pumps to make sure the Briton was completely done before he let go and then picked up the pace with his thrusts until the sound of the slick skin slapping against each other seemed far too loud. A sharp shot of pleasure shot into Alfred's gut and he moaned loudly, his entire body going still as he leaned his forehead against Arthur's and came. "A-Arthur..." He gasped, hot breath ghosting over the Briton's lips as he continued to spill into the other man.

New as this man was, Arthur couldn't help but be disappointed when Alfred finished inside of him and he could barely feel it. Still, the condom stopped him from a lot of unnecessary internal cleaning. He didn't have the patience for that at this time, and it was awful going back to his own hotel with cum all inside him.

Come to think of it, Arthur had no idea where he was. He could be anywhere. Five miles from Venice or within the very core. Honestly, the hotel décor was strikingly similar to his own. Don't tell him that they were in the same place. What a worrying thought.

He panted beneath Alfred, but had recovered quite quickly. He was a fit man - not easily starved of oxygen. He watched the other gasp for breath, and Arthur felt the urge to kiss him again take over. Their lips pressed together tightly.

Alfred smiled against the lips pressed to his and he kissed back, his bangs clinging to his forehead from sweat. He kissed Arthur's lips again once more before pulling away and pulling out, sliding the condom off and tying it in a knot before tossing it onto the floor. He would put it in the garbage later. With a long, loud, happy sigh he slid up next to the Briton and pulled him into his arms. "I really hope you don't mind snuggling, cause I'm a sap for it." One night stand be damned, he would get his human contact.

"So... would your group mind if you, er, maybe spent the night here tonight?" Alfred's cheeks were red and he knew it, so he pretended to play with a piece of Arthur's hair while he asked.

"Will confess, I don't usually go for it," Arthur said, as he sunk against Alfred and placed an arm on his torso as they lingered side by side. He considered the proposition, not quite sure whether it was worth it. They were going to get attached if they kept acting like lovers. He did not fancy having to look back on his life, lusting after a love he would never see again. "They'd be disappointed in me anyway. Better leave their annoyance till morning, don't you think?" Arthur smirked. He did not fancy calling up, telling them that the mission was a failure.

Alfred grinned wildly and nodded, pressing a kiss to Arthur's lips before he snuggled deeper into the covers with the man in his arms. He laid on his side so he was able to look into Arthur's eyes easily and he sighed happily. "I got to say... for a fling, I'm glad I got to have it with you." He traced the outline of Arthur's collar bone and then yawned widely, his eye lids drooping a bit before he smiled again. "Arthur Smith from England." He'd remember the name, the face and everything else. He closed his eyes and pulled the other closer to him, resting his chin on the straw blonde head. "Good Night Arthur..."

"Night night, Alfred," Arthur said softly, and pressed up against the American. Sure, the bed now smelled of sex and sweat, but he could still detect the light odours of after-shave and body washes on Alfred's skin, especially his chin and neck. It was attractive. Annoyingly so. He leant up, pressing his lips to his cheek, and wondered privately if Alfred knew that he was the best Arthur had had. His eyes slowly fell closed, and he became shocked how easily he had fallen to sleep within Alfred's arms.

* * *

When Arthur woke, it was bright.

Sunlight poured in from the window along with the refreshing smell of the bakery across the street. The Briton was wrapped carefully into the sheets so he wouldn't become cold during the night, now that there were no large arms around him to keep him warm.

Alfred was gone.

No suitcases, no clothes, not even used towels were around to show that was any evidence of the American had been there. The only thing that showed there had been another in the room with Arthur was laying on the pillow next to the Briton's head. A small pink and white cyclamen laid on the stark white pillow with a small piece of notebook paper under it.

Once he was awake, he realised it felt like the most peaceful night he had had for a long time. It was a comfy bed, and his body had been exhausted prior. He looked up. He was not alarmed that Alfred was gone. No, too early morning for that needless nonsense.

He picked up the flower and smelled it briefly. Call him a pansy, but he was smitten for this sort of thing. Did Alfred go out and get him this? He checked the stalk. Freshly cut.  _He did_.

Then it came to the letter. Honestly, he wished that Alfred could have said goodbye to him in person. He sighed, and grasped the note to read it. Good handwriting. How had Arthur slept through all of this? He stroked it, and tried to smell any scent of Alfred on the paper. It just smelled of paper.

'Arthur,

Last night was awesome. Sorry I had to leave so early, but ya' know. Work. I hope you have a good rest of your trip.

Alfred.'

"You're a total sod," he said to the paper, speaking of the one that gifted it to him. He read the words, and for some reason it made him very frustrated. Arthur huffed. Work, was it? He never mentioned anything about 'work'. He snapped up, hands on either side of the top of the paper - preparing to tear it in half and just dismiss this as another ridiculous one night stand of his.

He was not sure why he didn't, and pressed it to his heart. He was not sure why he ignored his pager for another hour's worth, closing his eyes and enjoying the sheets he and Alfred shared.

* * *

"Excuse me, sir."

Alfred glanced up and smiled winningly at the beautiful brunette, his glasses perfectly perched on his nose as he tilted his head at her cutely. "Yes, Miss?" He replied politely, adding a few more words to the text before he sent it off and exited out of the message center. She smiled warmly down at him and then pointed to the sign above his head.

"The captain is about to take off, so I will need you to buckle your seat belt and please turn off your cell phone." She asked politely, bending her knees slightly so they could be a bit more eye level. Alfred smiled and nodded, turning the power to his phone off with a soft chime and reaching over to grasp his seat belt. "Of course. Sorry about that."

"No worries." And with that said she was gone down the aisle informing other passengers that they needed to buckle their belts and turn off their electric devices. Alfred chuckled softly and shifted in his carry on for something, and smiled at the lady next to him when she raised an eyebrow at his movements. When he fished out a small printed out picture, folded up several times so it would fit inside the bag with no problem.

He smirked as he unfolded it and the woman beside him gave him a strange look. "Yeah, I know. Isn't he beautiful?" They both looked down at the picture of a sleeping straw hair colored man with enormous thick brows, clutching a pillow tightly with a small bit of drool at the corner of his mouth. Alfred chuckled, feeling warm inside at the sight even if it was only a picture.

"Good Morning everyone. Thank you for choosing United Airlines for your travels. Today we will be flying from Venice, Italy to Grimstad Norway."

**Author's Note:**

> STILL CO-WRITTEN WITH TENKUNO, THANK YOU FOR READING.


End file.
